Old Daughter of a Prince
by Yero my hero
Summary: This was my first attempt to the sequel to Son of a Witch. I'm rewriting it. Read the other. :D
1. Prologue

This is set after the end of Son of a Witch, though you don't _really _need to have read that. It is a story of Candle and Liir's green daughter and her life. This is my second fanfic, so please read and review, tell me what you think of the story so far. Whenever I get reviews then I'll know to write the next chapter, to know what people are thinking of the story idea.

Disclaimer: None of the characters you recognize are mine. Lena is, sort of, if you don't count the fact that GM birthed her. I'm just developing her character. :)

* * *

He gazed quietly down at the soft face, at the tiny green fingers wrapped around the hem of the worn blanket in a fist. Absentmindedly, he curled his hand around the soft lip of the basket and began to sway it gently. 

Inevitably, a memory washed over him, and he sidled into it, forgetting his sense of presence. In the way that one sometimes finds an important memory to have crystal-clear accuracy, he found himself in a circular tower room defined by clarity. Against the rays of the setting sun, he could make out the outline of a woman in a chair, gently rocking a basket at her feet. The ruby glare of the sunlight slowly lost its imposing glory when the sun dipped beneath the horizon. The swishing sound of a cloak could be heard as the green foot brushed lightly across the ground. From the basket, the characteristic cry of a baby sounded, but began to dwindle off when the woman in the chair began to hum lightly, her bell-like tone resonating about the room.

He shook his head softly, the room coming into focus once again. Timidly, he looked down at his daughter, a frown darkening his features slightly. _I couldn't get away from her when she was alive and now she'll haunt me forever._

"Now that's not true," he said aloud to himself, to keep his thoughts from developing absurdly and overrunning him. The girl before him cracked open an eyelid uncertainly, revealing a strip of slate-gray lurking beneath.

His hand paused in the rocking of the basket as he felt himself plunge into the depth of her eyes, swirling helplessly in uncertainty. The child, as though sensing his turmoil, stiffened, her toes pressing against the wicker basket in her attempt to escape.

"Shh, it's alright." He coaxed a small hand from beneath the blanket and took it in his own, lightly brushing his thumb across the folded knuckles and sighing. "You need a name, don't you?"

She gazed up at him from behind the illustrious gray eyes that dominated her face, and cocked her head to the side, as though listening intently to his words.

Grazing a finger against her cheek, he rose to retrieve the cloth through which he had been draining milk to feed his daughter.

Returning to the fireside, he gazed down at the little girl squirming slightly in the confines of the basket. The firelight glistened off her skin, making it appear as though her body was in constant motion, flowing before his eyes. She looked up at him inquisitively, the orange glow from the fire reflected in her small gaze.

"Lena." She continued to peer up at him uncertainly. _Recognition, or acceptance? _Her lips curled into the slightest of smiles. _Acceptance._

He raised the cloth to her mouth, and her soft sucking sounds soon dwindled away, and he realized she had fallen asleep again.

His hand brushed the soft dusting of charcoal-black hair away from her forehead, and he sighed. _I can't keep this up forever. _

He placed his forehead in his hands, attempting to formulate some semblance of a plan in his weary mind. He needed help, there was no doubt about it. The mauntery was the only place he could think of that might provide him with some of the help that he needed.

A thought was pressing urgently against his temple, giving him a throbbing headache. _They won't help you. Look at your daughter—she's green. Everyone will know._

He gazed into the dancing embers of the fire. "They have to," he spoke aloud, altogether unsure of what he meant. With no other option, he gathered up the basket and stood, the straw scratching gently against the inside of his arms.

With a certain sureness to his step, Liir left Apple Press Farm forever. The place seemed to sense his departure, and attempted to leave him with a good impression. The sun hung midway through the sky, shining gently onto the soft grass below. The wind blew invitingly through his hair and across his cheeks, but he never looked back. The trees waved meekly in farewell.


	2. Prologue 2

Okay, here is the second part of the beginning. There should only be one more chapter of this and then it will go on to Lena's life. Considering that 1. I already have an idea where the next chapter will go and 2. I should have a bit of free time this week, the next chapter should be up soon. :)

* * *

As Liir drew closer to the outline of the mauntery on the horizon, he became vaguely aware of a sharp pain in his left palm. Glancing down, he realized that his fingers were clenched about the broom tightly, and his fingernails were lacerating his skin. He released his pressure on the broom, but did not avert his gaze from it. He thought of the day he had left the mauntery for the first time, and the way that Elphaba had clutched the broom defiantly.

He had a feeling that he wouldn't carry the broom with him any longer—that somehow, by returning the broom to its home, he would finally confront and acknowledge Elphaba's death. Somehow she had just seemed _above_ human emotion. It was inconceivable to him that she would do something so vulnerable, so human, as to die. He remembered, suddenly, the view of Elphaba and Fiyero through the glass in her tower room, and dismissed his ideas as ludicrous. Elphaba had been merely human after all. At least once.

When he reached the gates of the mauntery, he paused. Though the sun was beating rather warmly down upon him, and there were birds singing quietly from the parapet, he felt distantly frightened.

The fear was faint—the shadow of an emotion felt so strongly before that it still hung in the air like a lingering fog. Each of his arrivals and departures from the Cloister of Saint Glinda had been filled with uncertainty. It was only now, with this recollection of emotions, that he realized this. He had been so used to being unsure of himself that the presence of fear was not an acknowledged one in his life. And now the realization came to him that in recent years he must also have escaped his ambivalence. With this thought assuaging his heavy heart, he raised the broom handle shakily and rapped it against the gate.

After a few moments, a maunt hurried towards him, stumbling over her stocky feet. She flung open the gate unceremoniously and mumbled something indistinguishable that Liir could only assume to be a greeting. She rubbed the back of her hand across her bloodshot eyes—she had obviously been sleeping. He decided to use her drowsiness to his advantage rather than try to explain his presence.

Clutching the basket to his chest, he proceeded through the gates of the mauntery with an air of dignity. He began to stride down the hall swiftly, as though he had an important matter to attend to. The dazed maunt returned to her place in the watchtower, resting her head against the wall once more as she sank to the floor.

When Liir was certain he could no longer feel eyes upon his back, he slowed his walk, glancing over his shoulder. The courtyard was now empty. He let out a heavy breath, realizing only then that he had been holding it in. His heart was pounding painfully against his ribs. This time, instead of a recollection of fear, he felt the real thing. He could hear the faint lullabies of a domingon echoing throughout the deserted halls.

"She thought it was dead," he whispered to himself, unconsciously gripping the basket tighter, as though afraid he had been wrong all along. "She thought it wouldn't make it." _But, she can read the present._

His fear was replaced instead with bitter anger—his timid walk became a forceful glide. He strode rather forcefully around a corner, nearly running headlong into a small figure clad in blue.

"I'm sorry, I- Lady Glinda?"

Glinda appeared to be just as surprised as he felt, but quickly slid a smile over her face like a mask. "Liir, how good to see you again!" Her eyes trailed from his head to the floor in a quick appraising motion, and she blinked rapidly a few times.

"Erm, I…" Oblivious to her despondency, he tried to develop an excuse for why he was there, having momentarily forgotten the true meaning of his visit.

"Liir, are you alright?"

At the slight nod of his head, she furrowed her brow. "What is it you have there?" She gestured towards the basket in his arms, her lips crinkled into a comforting smile.

Glancing down at the basket, he collected himself from his trance. "Lady Glinda, I…" Uncertainly, he paused, but when he failed to think of a better idea, he continued. "I need your help."

Glinda's eyes widened slightly at his words, and it took her a moment to realize he had lowered the basket in his arms. She dropped her eyes to the basket. For a moment, she could only stare down at the small bundle, transfixed.

"Meet Lena."

She tentatively reached a shaking hand towards the sleeping child, as though afraid the touch might burn her. Her fingertip came in contact with the soft green forehead before gently running the length of her cheek. "Oh, Liir. Is she yours?"

"Yes." He was surprised at how sure he was of his answer.

• • • • •

There was a faint knocking at the door that jerked her away from her thoughts. Agitated, she called to the door, "I am not to be disturbed during meditation." She closed her eyes again, convinced she had solved the problem. She was surprised when the door creaked open.

"Superior Maunt, there is… are some guests here you might want to see."

Annoyed, but curious nonetheless, she gestured for the guests to be shown in. The maunt swept back the door and Glinda entered, followed closely by Liir. Liir's appearance surprised, but did not shock, her. She was thoroughly nonplussed as to why his presence had resulted in the interruption of her afternoon routine. "Welcome. Have a seat."

Glinda, who appeared not to have heard her words, approached the Superior Maunt. "There is something- erm, one- that you must see." She turned her face towards Liir, who was lurking in the doorway, and glared at him. He approached tentatively, clutching a bundle to his chest. At Glinda's insistent looks, he lowered his arms.

"Sweet Oz," she said quietly, her hand trailing to her mouth, which had fallen open in surprise. In contrast to Liir's faintly tanned arms lay a green infant, peering quietly up at her through captivating gray eyes.

She tore her gaze from the child and looked towards the maunt that still lingered in the doorway. "Go fetch Candle."


	3. Prologue 3

Two updates in one day, aren't you all the lucky ones? ;) As promised, here is the last part of the beginning/intro stuff. I rather enjoy this chapter, I hope you do too. :)

* * *

Glinda didn't know what she had expected, but it wasn't this. She had pictured Candle in her mind's eye; a broken woman, moving with quiet docility, shrinking into the shadows behind eyes glazed with shame. So when Candle had entered smoothly, her domingon slung over her shoulder in comfortable grace, Glinda was surprised.

Candle sat wordlessly in a chair and scanned the room. Her eyes didn't linger on Liir and the tight bundle in his arms nor on Glinda's face in a confused glance. She didn't ask questions, she merely sat, apparently content to be in this moment the way fate had intended for her to be.

The Superior Maunt, her expression blank, spoke into the warm stillness of the room. "Candle, this is your child?"

Candle did not look in the direction the maunt had indicated, but neither did she play dumb. Her features were unreadable, as though carved from stone. "Yes," she answered in a small voice.

The Superior Maunt seemed slightly taken aback, as though the answer had been unexpected. "May I ask," she began, in a voice that quiet plainly reflected that she would ask with or without permission, "why you left your child?"

Candle knit her brow in concentration and she studied the hands folded in her lap. Though she appeared to have a clear understanding of the language, speaking it seemed to be difficult for her. After a moment, she spoke quietly. "Baby thought to be dead."

Liir spoke up then, unraveling himself from the silent obscurity of the corner in which he sat. "Candle! I found _my_ child wrapped in this cloak. With a limp body and lifeless eyes. I don't know what-"

But what Liir didn't know, Glinda didn't find out. He had slipped, uninterrupted, into Qua'ati, his voice rising in intensity. Though she strained her ears to try and make sense of the language, she caught only an occasional similar word, among them "damned" and "daughter."

Candle rose from her chair, gazing coldly at Liir. Though her body language was that of someone who was quite angry, she did not yell. Her voice rang confidently throughout the room before she turned on her heel and marched through the door.

Glinda sat, stunned, Candle's voice reverberating around the unnaturally still room. Her last sentence had been clear for all of them to understand. "My child is dead."

The Superior Maunt was the first to break the silence. "What is it you plan to do, Liir?"

He sat still, gazing at the door through which Candle had just left. After a moment he glanced down at Lena, who was squirming uncomfortably on his lap. He opened his mouth to speak. "I-" his voice broke, and he swallowed. "I'm no father," he whispered.

He stood and crossed the room quietly. Raising his arms, he stared at Lena for a long moment before placing her in the maunt's arms. "You take her."

At the open door he paused, looking back at his daughter through tear-swollen eyes. "Goodbye Lena," he whispered. As the door closed faintly behind him, Glinda heard, "Goodbye Elphaba."

The uncomfortable silence of the room was broken only by Lena's soft cooing—an attempt to capture the attention of the maunt in whose lap she sat.

Glinda rose halfway from the chair. "I…" The maunt tore her eyes away from the window, through which Liir could be seen, retreating into the sunset. Her eyes were crinkled in exhaustion. "Take her."

Glinda unquestionably obeyed, raising the child from the maunt's lap and heading from the room. She walked quietly for a few minutes before she suddenly stopped. She had no recollection of making a decision on a destination, and didn't know where she was headed.

She slid over to a bench and sat down upon it, laying out Lena upon her lap. She was such a striking young girl. She realized, then, why the child reminded her so much of Elphaba. It wasn't just the soft green skin and dark, sleek hair, as she had originally thought. It was her eyes, which held no resemblance to Elphaba's, and yet seemed to express nothing but Elphaba within them. They held a quiet, unrestrained knowledge, the type Elphaba had always possessed in such quantity.

Lena cringed suddenly when a teardrop landed on her cheek. Glinda quickly wiped it away, gasping for air through the sobs that were now wracking her slight frame. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" she mumbled, wiping Lena's cheek with her thumb.

For Lena was like Elphaba in more ways than she knew. Her parents had left her to fend for herself in a cruel world—left her to learn for herself what love truly was. She apologized, not to Lena, but to Elphaba. For having to endure such a childhood as she had never known and could never fathom.

She pulled Lena to her chest, tears trickling sporadically down her cheeks. She made a silent vow to take care of Lena, to give her the love of a parent that Elphaba had never had. "I'm sorry," she whispered once more.

Lena's tiny fingers began to grab at her shoulder insistently. Suddenly, she realized that she had been crying into Lena's hair. She pulled the infant away from her chest, urgently, to find the child in tears. "Oh, baby, you're just hungry, aren't you?"

She rose from the bench and wiped Lena's tears away.

Perhaps Elphaba's death, instead of her own baptism, had been her sacrifice. The baptism for her granddaughter instead.


	4. Chapter 1

Okay, this is where the story actually begins. This is a bit of an introductory chapter, but reviews are _always_ welcome, including criticism because of course, I want to know what it is people don't like that I could fix. :)

* * *

Lena was lying on her back upon the warm stone parapet, gazing up at the sky. The vast expanse above her was shining an iridescent sapphire, trimmed with a deep purple. Everything about her gleamed an eerie blue, as though the warm evening air could capture the last light of the fading sky and hold it there forever. 

She relished the feeling of the wind gliding through her hair like a gentle wave. Air that came from some land she had never known. She fancied that it originated in some mystic hollow just over the horizon and invited her over the walls to share in its mystery.

Sighing, she flopped onto her stomach and scanned the fields below. Against the last rays of the sun she saw a meager group making its way to the mauntery.

After sliding down the ladder, she floated down a long hallway lined with hewn stone walls. She passed a couple maunts hurrying along in flowing skirts to their nightly devotions, and a few of them flashed her a quick smile before flying past.

Arriving at a simply carved quoxwood door, she raised her slender fingers and knocked gently. Following a few dainty footsteps, she could hear someone working at the handle of the door. After a couple of moments there was a sigh of frustration before a voice called, "Who is it?"

Lena chuckled and unlatched the door with relative ease. "Really, mother, are you ever going to get the doors right?"

Glinda beamed broadly and pulled Lena into her arms, mumbling something into the dark locks that sounded like, "The doors hate me."

Smiling, Lena pulled out of the embrace. "There are visitors coming this way."

The blonde glanced out the window, apparently startled to see that the sky had grown dark. "Nighttime already! Come in then, dear, while I go and greet the guests?" She squeezed Lena's hand gently before hurrying out the door.

Lena looked about as she sat down upon the large bed in the center of the room. Suppressing a sigh, she turned to face the window, straining to catch movement outside, but seeing only stars appearing one by one in the indigo sky. _Stop feeling disappointed, _she chided herself.

She longed to experience something new in her monotonous life—to meet new people and explore the countryside. For as long as she could remember, her life had been the same. Not unhappy, certainly, though she had nothing to compare it to. When she had been younger she was whisked away from the prying eyes of visitors with a comforting, "Leenie, darling, you're just too young."

Now those days had come and gone, and certainly she was of age by now; older, in fact, than a few of the youngest maunts. They no longer supplied her with an excuse when they hid her away.

She rose and lit a candle, chasing away the darkness in the corners of the room. Returning to the bed, she glanced at her bare feet trailing along the wooden floor. Subconsciously, she rubbed her hands together to warm them, which she had taken to doing when she was uncomfortable.

She used to blame her green skin for her shallow existence and the secrets in her life. Standing bitterly before her reflection, she would close her eyes and wish it away, but to no avail. Recently she had begun to feel differently about it. Rather than it being the _cause _of oddities in her life, perhaps it was a _sign _of it. The way a 'Beware of Dog' sign plastered on a neighborhood fence would put you on alert, so would her skin. _Beware the green girl._

Crawling into the bed and pulling her legs up to her chest, she waited. After a few minutes she heard someone struggling with the door before it burst open and Glinda fell in.

Lena made a move to help her, but she caught herself against the wall, muttering curses at the door.

"Really, the doors aren't so bad, you just have to push _then _flick the latch," Lena said, amused.

"Whoever said they needed doors… so darn strong…" she mumbled under her breath, but more for amusement than out of anger.

"Well the mauntery _is _supposed to be a safe place, you know."

"Yes. I do." Glinda said, raising a delicate eyebrow in a mock I'm-not-as-dumb-as-you-think-I-am look.

As Glinda stumbled onto the bed and removed her shoes, Lena asked, "How were the guests?"

"Exhausting," she replied, rubbing her worn feet.

"They were attempting to match your efforts," Lena said slyly, trying to coax Glinda into smiling. Instead her face fell slightly and she looked over at Lena through the curls falling about her face.

"Sometimes you're more like her than you know," she said quietly.

Lena stiffened. The Wicked Witch of the West had always been a forbidden topic for all the mauntery's inhabitants. She knew very little of the woman that was to have been her grandmother other than the fact that she had been close to Glinda. "I didn't mean to upset you."

A smile flickered across her face then. "Maybe you're not as alike as I thought. I just miss her, you know. Sometimes you remind me of the way she acted back when we were at Shiz together."

Lena's reply was interrupted suddenly by a rather loud knock at the door. "Lady Glinda?" a voice called urgently.

* * *

There are (obviously) a few questions you all probably want answered about Lena. Like, why she is still in the mauntery, why Glinda is there (and, consequently, can't figure out how to open the doors), and the like. I intend to answer these questions in the next chapter, so don't hate me. :) 


	5. Chapter 2

Okay, so maybe I (unintentionally) lied when I said this story was going on hold. Thanks goes to Thessaly for the truly amazing review—I loved it. And also to Kennedy Leigh Morgan, who helped me to sort through my thoughts and accompany them with ideas of her own. Basically credit goes to her for helping me tons with not only this chapter, but the story in general. :D

As for the rest of you—for heaven's sake. The little purplish button at the bottom is the one for reviewing. :D

* * *

She was drawn quietly from her ruminations at the sight of the tall spires of the mauntery hanging in the still orange gloaming. The subtle jerking motion at her hand caught her attention as the dapple-gray horse alongside her cowed at the looming shape before them. 

"Oh, really, Laela. Don't be so ridiculous," she chided.

The horse lowered its head at her words and made no further forms of protest.

At the gates of the mauntery she raised her white-knuckled hand and rapped on the small side door. An indistinguishable face surrounded by a mass of flowing golden hair appeared over the edge of the parapet. "What is you business at the Cloister of Saint Glinda?" she called.

"I am a traveler in need of a place to rest for the night, if you would be so kind," she supplied, in the nearest semblance of a weary traveler as she could manage.

The maunt responded by disappearing back over the ledge and reappearing at the door a minute later. "Sorry, we don't normally accept guests after sundown," she explained, ushering her through the door. "You don't appear to be much of a threat."

Managing a weak smile, she asked, "Is there somewhere to stable my horse for the night?"

"Yes, I'll take, um…"

"Her. It's Laela."

"Yes, I'll take her to the stable. Just head along this hallway here and someone should offer you some dinner and a place to rest." She motioned down a long hallway that opened into a small courtyard.

• • • • •

"Lady Glinda?" a voice called urgently.

Glinda nearly fell off the bed in surprise, catching herself against the small pillows dramatically. Lena alone seemed responsive, sweeping to the door and pulling it open to reveal a young novice at the door.

Collecting her pink skirts in her hands, Glinda rose from the bed and hurried to where the maunt stood in the door. "Yes?"

"Lady Glinda, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there is a guest here to see you," she offered tentatively.

Sighing slightly, she motioned Lena back through the door and muttered a quick "I'll be back" before trailing along behind the blond-headed novice. Arriving in the sitting room that was normally reserved for afternoon tea, Glinda caught sight of a slim young woman with chestnut-colored hair pulled back into a short ponytail near the nape of her neck.

"Good evening," she said cheerfully, and the stranger tore her soft green eyes from the window and focused them upon her.

"You must be Glinda," she inferred, her sun-darkened features softening into a relieved smile. "I was hoping to catch you. I am Nor." At Glinda's confused look she added, "Fiyero's daughter. I am sure you must know of Fiyero?"

"Yes. Just that… isn't Liir supposed to be looking for you?"

"Oh, is he?" she asked offhandedly. "He never was very accomplished, was he?"

Confused, Glinda asked, "Is there a particular reason why you've chosen to visit me?"

"Yes. Is it true what I've heard about this mauntery? That it is in opposition of the Emperor?" she ventured.

Glinda could feel the blood rush to her face but answered anyway, her voice lowered in arcane rectitude. "This is a mauntery that stands for deity rather than politics."

Nor nodded her head unconsciously, her clear green eyes clouded over in waves of thought. "I must know if it is true what they say," she said gently, fixing Glinda with her solemn gaze. At Glinda's surreal nod, Nor continued. "The green girl is here?"

_How is Oz does she know? Can she be trusted? _Before consciously deciding, she answered. "Yes."

"Shell knows," Nor confided quietly. "He wants her gone."

Glinda did the only thing that she seemed physically able to do, and nodded. Her unfocused eyes looking past the scrubbed white wall, seeing images only she could see, she sat and nodded in disbelief.

• • • • •

"Damn," she muttered under her breath, her bare feet pacing across the lacquered wooden floor. She felt uneasy—there was definitely something going on, and, as always, she was prisoner in this infernal room devoid of key and lock.

"This is impiety," she whispered tremulously, her long-fingered hands smudging the unbroken blackness of the windowpane.

_Just go, _her subconscious urged perversely.

She flung the window open, flooding the room with cool night air. The bleak shimmer of stars glowed gently down upon her, deeming her alone in the night and thus exonerating her.

Crawling carefully along the vertiginous ledge, she paused at the next window, crouching in the accusatory light shining meekly into the night.

"I must know if it is true what they say. The green girl is here?" a young woman asked, seated precariously on the edge of a straight-backed chair and looking unwillingly anxious.

Glinda's reply was lost in the profound confidence of the room, and Lena leaned her face closer to the glass, straining to hear the hushed wisps of conversation. "Shell knows. He wants her gone."

At the reserved nodding of Glinda's gloriously blond head, Lena slipped farther along the ledge, crawling down the rough stone wall into the moonlit courtyard below. She wandered thoughtlessly to the musty circular tower room at the edge of the medical ward; her secret haven.

Lying on her back upon the neglected stone floor, she gazed out at the glimmering specks of light in the darkened sky, searching for familiar constellations and unwritten answers.

"Child." A voice spoke softly from the doorway, startling her from her detached reverie.

She turned her eyes slowly to the door, allowing them to adjust to the darkness. It was Yackle.

"Mother Yackle, you startled me-" she began, but paused when Yackle held up a hand to silence her.

"You are leaving?" she asked croakily, her voice echoing incriminatingly against the rounded walls and dissipating into the tapered rafters.

"Yes."

* * *

_Way to go, _he thought abjectly, leaning his matted hair against the grimy wall, listening to the faint plops of brackish water dripping from the ceiling. _No brilliant plan to get you out of this one. _

He doubted his existence in this squalid place, this maddening duality of palpable sin and regret in equal parts.

"So it seems you're back."A voice choked with brash inebriation hung in the thick cell air as the door swung creakily on its hinges, sending cold tremors unfettered down his spine.


	6. Chapter 3

Voila, chapter three! This one is rather long, and I think I like it. As always, credit to Kennedy Leigh Morgan for putting up with my random ideas and helping them make sense. This story wouldn't be what it is without her.

Disclaimer: I'll only remember to do these every few chapters or so. Wicked and Son of a Witch don't belong to me, but if GM would write a sequel then I wouldn't have had to write this. :D

* * *

"Yes, goodnight then." She turned to find the large wooden door towering over her like some great menace. She sighed heavily, reaching cautiously for the door handle, failing to be amused by the lame obstacle that the door presented. 'You just have to push _then _flick the latch.' The voice came floating back to her and she obeyed, leaning heavily against the door before working at the handle. It swung open obediently. 

"Well, I'll be," she muttered in wonderment, closing the door behind her and advancing into the room. Glancing towards the bed, expecting to see the comforting presence of green limbs and dark hair spilling from beneath the pink coverlet, she half-believed she had. She flung her head back. The bed was empty.

Glinda flew back to the door and out into the hall, nearly stumbling into Nor and Sister Doctor in the hallway. "Lena's gone. Where did she go?"

Sister Doctor's face was darkened by a frown. "What?"

"I said, where did Lena go? She's not in the room."

"She isn't in the tower room, I was just there…" She glanced about, as if expecting Lena to emerge, laughing slyly, from the shadows. The only sign of life in the bleak morning was a lone figure on a bench in the courtyard. She approached it, only vaguely noting the presence of Glinda and Nor on her heels.

"Mother Yackle, what are you doing out so early? It's chilly," Sister Doctor asked, only slightly masking her apparent annoyance.

Yackle looked up at her questioningly. "Seeing off a friend."

They all glanced quickly at the gates. There was no sign of anyone there. "Mother, who?" By this point, Sister Doctor sounded exasperated and exhausted.

"Why, Lena, of course," she replied, as if the fact of it should have been quite obvious.

Glinda took a step backwards in disbelief, immediately biting her tongue. _Yackle is old, she's delusional, she doesn't know what she's talking about._

She stumbled back to her room, leaving Sister Doctor and the others to the weak sunshine and the pure tolling of the morning bell.

Slamming the door unnecessarily hard behind her, she gazed, long and hard, at the bed, which now seemed ridiculously flamboyant to her. What really mattered was the absence of what should have been there—a green-skinned bundle of quiet conviction that she had come to love.

Sinking wearily to the mattress and burying her face in her hands, she did not object to the tears flowing quickly down her face. She was exhausted, and the situation seemed all-too-familiar to her. Was she always to be the one left behind?

_Stop overreacting. Nothing proves she's gone. _A voice of reason interrupted, somehow providing comfort enough for her to fall back onto the bed and slip into a desperately-needed sleep.

* * *

Reaching the quiet, lapping waters of the steely-gray Kellswater, she paused. _Too far South. _She glanced up at the slowly-lightening sky, sighing. _How am I to know which was is West with no stars?_

She sank objectively to the sandy fringes of the water, gazing meekly at her reflectionbeing tossed and flipped and mirrored in distorted patterns in the small waves. A chilly gust of wind blew harshly in her ear, whipping her hair about viciously. Glancing up at the sky, she narrowed her eyes.

Another gust of wind ripped across the despondent waters, and the broom blew several feet away into the grass.

"Stupid wind," she muttered, standing to retrieve it. It trembled in her hand and she gasped, releasing it. It defied not only her expectations, but the laws of gravity as well. Instead of falling to the ground, it hung in the air, like some mystic phantom.

Tentatively, she raised shaking fingers and curled them around the shaft of the broom. It remained firm in her hand, dispelling the theory that it was imagination.

She did the only thing that it seemed reasonable at the time for her to do, and mounted it like a horse. Another brittle flurry of chill air sent her veering off into the sky, leaving the sun and the accusatory, distant waters of the lake behind her.

The broom streaked through the air of its own accord, leaving Lena helpless upon it, a green speck at the mercy of the wind and the world. Somehow, it made sense to her, riding along, unbidden, beneath the shifting mists of clouds. It was the way her life had always been.

Just when the cold wind biting through the thick folds of the cloak began to be too much to bear, a small town shrouded by the slopes of the Kells came into view. Uncertainly, she urged the broom downward, landing with a most unceremonious whump at the edge of a wheel-rutted dirt road. "Ow…"

Standing gingerly, she sat off down the lane, wrapping the unfamiliar scent of the cloak about her and hiding beneath the shadows of the hood.

Reaching a midsize, wood-sided inn, she approached and knocked lightly on the door. After a moment a figure appeared, squinting out at her, struggling to see her face. Realizing her rudeness, she flung the hood back, being enveloped instead by flying wisps of loose hair.

The man fell into the door, backing away in terror.

_Damn, _she thought. _I don't know the last thing about meeting people._

He flew off into the depths of the inn, leaving the door wide. She entered and closed it behind her, blocking out the mercilessly howling wind. The quiet tinny of a bell echoed from within, and she made her way towards the sound, emerging at a type of reception desk. The man from the door was standing at it, pounding on a small bell incessantly, and another man was emerging from a back room. He paused at the sight of her. "Well, is that what all the commotion's about?"

Slowly, the man at the desk turned on his heel, seeming alarmed but quickly calming himself with a small "Oh!"

Lena clutched at the rough handle of the broom, biting her lip, waiting for the introduction to, someway or another, end. Or begin.

"You scared the Dickens out of me!" he cried good-naturedly. "I saw you with the hair and, and—I thought it was that old green Witch back to haunt me! Yes, I can see now that I was wrong, you don't look a lick like her. Except for the hair and that skin. Yep, undeniably green, the both of you."

Lena bit back her surprise. "You knew the Witch?"

"Well, yes and no. Oh, how rude of me. I'm Koen, and this is Davu. And, you are?"

"I'm Lena. I'm somewhat new to this area."

"That's no problem," he reassured her. "You know where you're headed?"

"Not exactly."

"Well," Davu cut in, "We're in Red Windmill now. Back down the road you just came," he nodded his head, "is Knobblehead Pike, Fanarra, and the like. Up that way," he nodded his head again, "is Kiamo Ko, and that's about it. I wouldn't fancy a trip in that direction."

At her questioning look Davu added, "We were there, Koen and I, weren't we, Koen? Wasn't much of a stay. There was the Witch, kept mostly to herself, sad kind of creature. And the family, but they're gone now," he scoffed, gaining the somewhat distant look of one in memory, "not that I did anything to help with _that. _Anyhow, now it's just empty, so I hear. No one goes up there. Not anymore."

- - - - -

The aging stone structure loomed before her like a tall steeple, hanging over the edge of the mountain, leering at her. The broken cobblestone path led way to a broken gate, flanked on either side by rough stone walls nearly hidden beneath the thick green ivy snaking along the stones. A shrill scream of wind worked through the cracks, and she shivered, entering the deserted courtyard and spinning about on her heel.

The walls seemed weary with neglect, beginning to crumble beneath the strong fingers of the ivy. The stones echoed her lonely footsteps. Suddenly, something caught her eye, and she approached it. Hidden in a small copse of trees was a series of headstones, overgrown with weeds. She pulled on a heap of it and it fell away like ashes. Bending, she ran her fingertips along the names.

_Fiyero; Prince of the Arjiki, Sarima; devoted wife of Fiyero, Manek, _and beside that, _Irji; sons of Fiyero. _Removed a little ways to the right were two smaller tombstones, one of which was planted behind freshly dug earth. Gulping, she leaned in to examine them. _Elphaba, _carved in an unskilled hand. And below that, looking like it had been carved more recently than the name; _Lover of Fiyero. _And below that still, nearly fresh words; _Mother of Liir. _She moved to the second gravestone, which appeared to be a piece of stone from the battlements of the castle itself. Very crudely scratched into the dirt-encrusted surface; _Nanny._

Suddenly, she paused. She could feel something, or someone, peering out at her from the shadows of the ramparts.

"Hello?" The small echo of her voice joining in with the cry of the wind sent a chill down her spine. "Anyone there?"

A Snow Monkey, bent over with age, approached, the delicate wisps of wings on his back reflecting the gray morning light. It cocked its head to the side uncertainly. "Elphaba?"

"Uh, no. I'm Lena. Liir's daughter," she offered.

Recognition flashed over his white-glazed eyes. "Yes, of course. I'm sure you've heard this before, but you look quite like her."

"So I hear," she said quietly. "What was she like?"

He smiled slightly, baring his teeth. "She had love and passion and hate and you'd never know which it would be." He sighed reflectively. "She taught me. And she taught herself. Flying on that broom and reading that old book. She wasn't really wicked," he added thoughtfully.

"You cared for her?"

"I'd never known anyone else to care for. But that, in itself, says something. She was quite extraordinary." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I want to show you something."

She followed along after his hunched form until they reached a small door, hanging crookedly on its hinges. "This was her room. I'll be back in a moment, I have something to show you."

Ducking beneath the cobwebs strewn across the stop of the doorway, she entered the confines of the room, which was windswept and bitterly lit by the sun shining in through the open window. To one side of the room there was an open wardrobe hung with a few dark dresses, moth-eaten and fading. The corner held a small, bare bed, and next to it a desk littered with random objects; a round glass orb on a stand, an assortment of books, and an upended bowl along with various utensils.

Sitting down upon a small stool near the desk, she reached for one of the books, but paused. The light shining through the glass orb dispersed, a splay of colored light against the pale green of her fingers.

She reached for it, taking the imperfect glass into her palms. In the reflection on its surface, she could see her rounded green face, surrounded by windswept hair in desperate need of a combing. Suddenly the eyes were no longer the soft gray of cool water, of morning dew. They were a deep, rich brown, creased in a loving smile. She gasped and dropped the ball to the floor, where it landed with a loud thunk, splintering along its seam and rolling half-heartedly across the dust-covered planks.

The Monkey was lingering in the doorway, carrying with him a large, leather-bound book. "I wish you hadn't done that," he said quietly.

* * *

"So it seems you're back." 

The sight of the dark-haired man at the door made him sick. "What the hell do you want, Shell?" he spat.

"Just thought I'd pay you a little visit now that you're visiting in Southstairs. Or did you finally develop a taste for the ladies?" He was mocking him.

"Sick bastard."

At this, Shell lost his detachment, smiling coldly. "I'd watch your tongue if I was you. As I remember, you're the one locked in Southstairs. The last thing I need right now is an excuse to off the green girl. Especially with your dear friend's damnable habit of scrawling "Elphaba lives!" all over tarnation. It's _hardly _fitting."

Liir dropped his jaw in amazement, immediately wishing he hadn't done so. Shell had undoubtedly noticed--there was a small spasm of fear flickering through his eyes.

"I guess there are more people against our dear Shell than he realized," Liir stated insolently.

His eyes flashed. "You can make this easy, or you can make it hard. Where is the green girl?"

Liir clutched his hands into fists. "Go to hell."

Shell's face twisted into a frightening smile. "Sure. But I'll make sure you join me there." He turned quickly, slamming the cold door behind him, leaving Liir once again with only dirty water and guilt for company.

He reached slowly into his pocket, drawing out a folded, yellowing paper, and smoothing it out carefully. Upon its crinkled surface was a girl, smiling slyly and seeming to gesture to the world around her with open green arms. _Lena, by her father, Liir, _he read. He had remembered the picture of Nor all too well, and had, in recent years, drawn one of Lena while away. A reminder of the girl he still cared for, though he didn't know how.

He suddenly remembered, more clearly, the drawing of Nor by Fiyero. _This is me Nor, by my father F. Before he left._

"That won't be Lena," he whispered into the dank air. "I'm coming back."

Only the wind answered.


	7. Chapter 4

Oh, wow everyone. I am terribly sorry that it took me so long to update this. -hides in corner- I hope you all enjoy it, and I promise to try and get the next chapter sooner. Thank you **so **much for all of the wonderful reviews. I tried considerably harder to slow this chapter down, tell me what you think of it. :)

* * *

She was walking casually down a lane of the Emerald City, her auburn hair cascading in gentle waves to her shoulders. Stopping alongside an alleyway canvassed in shadow, she paused. She could make out the small figure of a child scrawling something across the already defaced surface of the wall. Slightly amused, she took a step towards the figure to read the new words now that adorned the brick. 

The Wicked Witch is dead!

She felt instant heat flare up in her chest, and took another step into the alley. The boy gasped and turned sharply towards her before flitting off into the shadows. "Ma…Manek—?" she croaked out. "Manek!" She tried to hurry after him, but her legs seemed unresponsive, causing her to stumble into the wall. Angrily, she pushed off of the bricks, desperate to catch her brother before she lost him again. "Manek!" she called anxiously, stretching her arms into the darkness before her. Her voice dissipated with a sigh and was swallowed by the blackness.

The darkness suddenly gave way to guttering firelight at the edges of her vision. Gasping, she tripped and crashed to the floor with a noisy splash. Lifting her twisted form from the brackish water, she turned her head to find a decaying Boar carcass, crawling with maggots. Scampering away on all fours, she collapsed to the ground, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

After a moment she opened them to find herself in a deserted room. "Elphaba Lives!" was splashed across every surface, glaring at her incriminatingly from every wall. The room spun around her.

Suddenly she woke, gasping, and sat up in bed to find tears on her cheeks. Angrily, she wiped them away. "Tears don't change the past."

- - - -

She woke to the echoing peal of the evening bells, calling the maunts to devotionals. Stretching idly, she rolled over onto her skirts, halfheartedly yanking them from beneath her. She had only a moment to wonder why she had slept fully clothed before a knock sounded at the door.

She rose and pulled the door open to find Nor on the other side, her hair pulled back into a braid and a leather satchel slung over her shoulder.

Shaking off the remnants of sleep, Glinda managed a small smile before closing the door softly behind her. "Good morning Nor. How did you sleep?"

"Wonderfully." She smiled. "I didn't realize how much I missed the concept of sleeping in a bed."

"It's good to know that you've come to this conclusion so readily."

Nor tilted her head slightly, as though thinking about it. "Actually." She paused. "Do you think you could show me to where the stables are?"

"Sure." Glinda set off down the hallway, turning to face Nor. "Do you have a horse?"

"Yeah, I got her a few years back. She's my companion," she said.

"Well it's good to know that you haven't been traveling alone. Though of course," she glanced about, motioning with her hands, "the true traveler knows that the world about her serves as the best accessory."

At this Glinda chuckled to herself and Nor raised an eyebrow skeptically. "But of course."

"Oh, you must excuse my morning banter. Well, afternoon banter, I suppose. All the same."

Nor looked at her, rolling her eyes lightheartedly.

"Here we are!" Glinda cried, more excited than she had intended, at the sight of the stables.

Nor slipped her satchel from her shoulder and leaned it up against the paneled barn wall. "Laela…" she crooned slightly, stepping through the doors. "C'mere, girl."

A silver mare came trotting obediently from a corner of the stable, and Nor took her by the reigns and led her from the barn. "This is Laela. Lae, this is Glinda."

Nor held out a small handful of oats towards the horse, and Glinda gave her a small pat. "Nice to meet you, Laela."

The horse chomped thoughtfully on the oats for a moment before rising to her full height and stamping her hoof slightly.

Nor laughed. "I think Laela's about ready to leave."

They started off towards the gate of the mauntery, now accompanied by the soft clop of horse feet on the cobblestones.

"I'm glad that you came here to tell me," Glinda said softly, looking up from the stone path and meeting Nor's gaze. "Thanks."

"I'll find Liir. And we'll find Lena. I promise," she reassured her.

Glinda smiled. The air held a sort of foreign hope that seemed to clutch her in its grasp, making Nor's words seem not only true, but unquestionably logical and simple as well. "Yeah. I hope so."

Glinda stood at the gates of the mauntery, leaning up against the rails, watching the distancing figures of Laela and Nor.

She was glad to have met Nor. She seemed to exude a sense of passion and determination about her that was comforting and fiery. She reminded her of Elphie. But, who didn't these days?

Perhaps, she thought suddenly, that's why Nor lives the way she lives. She could remember the almost affectionate nickname that Nor had supplied in explanation for her years in the Emerald City. The "Elphaba Lives!" Campaign. Rather than avenging Elphaba's death, and the murder of her family, maybe she was also getting revenge for herself. For her lost childhood.

Liir too, she reflected. Nor was the only one left of his childhood that he had left to cling to.

_Who have I got? _She glanced up at the darkening sky before disappearing into the courtyard.

- - - -

The Monkey was lingering in the doorway, carrying with him a large, leather-bound book. "I wish you hadn't done that," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked, jumping up from the stool in surprise. She dropped to all fours to search for the broken orb, but he stopped her.

"Don't, I want to show you something." He hobbled toward the desk and placed the heavy book upon its surface. "This is the Grimmerie." He turned around to face her. "Well, don't just stand there, come have a look!"

She began towards the desk, but paused, turning back towards the window. She tugged fruitlessly at the decaying shutters in an attempt to open them further and better light the room. Unsuccessful, she turned back and stumbled backwards into the wall in surprise.

The room no longer held the blank look of a place that had long since been deserted. There were candles placed sporadically about, gleaming onto the warm oak of the floorboards and casting deep shadows across a green face.

"Elphaba?" she whispered incredulously, staring in wonderment. Elphaba was leaning over the desk, poring over the deep violet pages of the Grimmerie. Chistery was no longer seated on the stool, but perched atop the desk, hunched over in a detached way. Elphaba looked up at him with rapt eyes, as though continuing a conversation.

"Say spirit." Chistery looked at her, his eyes unfocused.

"You are animal, but Animal is your cousin, damn you. Say spirit."

Chistery picked a nit off his chest and ate it.

"Spirit," she sang, "there is spirit, I know it. Spirit."

"Spit," said Chistery, or something like it.

Elphaba laughed and cried out, "Spirit, oh spirit, Chistery! There is spirit! Say spirit!"

"Spit spite spote," Chistery tried the words aloud, clearly unimpressed with himself. "Speared?"

A sort of invisible rain began to fall from the ceiling, distorting the images of Elphaba and Chistery singing their erratic song of spirit and sport and spots. Lena pushed through the foggy veil, crashing painfully into the stool and collapsing in a heap against the desk.

She found tears in her eyes and blinked them back, sliding gently to the floor. The room had returned to its dull gray, with no more promise of song and opportunity. Biting uncertainly at her lip, she pulled the Grimmerie from the edge of the desk into her lap and flipped the cover open.

The worn velour of the page was like a mystic night sky, silken scripts chasing each other across its surface like shooting stars. She ran her fingers lightly across it, half-expecting the words to wriggle free of their page and continue their dance against her skin. She pulled her hand away and found only a thin layer of dust upon her fingertips.

Slowly flipping through the pages, she found intricate drawings of half-beasts and glorious angels, encircled by trains of looping words. Curiously, she flipped to a section near the middle of the book and found a yellowing scrap of parchment, folded into a square. She pulled it out and unfolded it carefully.

Small, immaculate handwriting swept from the top of the paper to a small drawing near the bottom. Bringing the paper closer to her eyes, she found it to be a diagram of a monkey with wings. Around the drawing was a crude imitation of the writing in the Grimmerie, flowing with the same mystic quality.

Curiously, she muttered a few of the words aloud as they formed beneath her eyes. "De le asa ento pod voar…" She found herself feeling oddly expectant, anticipation thick throughout the room.

"Oh, what a load of tripe," she announced, angry that she had let herself get carried away. She reached to slam the book closed, but paused. Had she heard something?

Shaking her head and chuckling a bit at herself, she took the soft leather of the book's cover in her hand before pausing again. Was something _clucking?_

Suddenly a bright light illuminated the room, sending thick shadows scampering up the wall. Lena fell over in surprise, and a chicken came clucking past her quickly and out the open door.

Sitting up and rubbing her head distractedly, she looked under the desk at the orb now sending golden rays halfheartedly across the floorboards. "A _chicken? _What?" she muttered, glancing around. _What in Oz is going on…_

She crawled across the floor on all fours and pulled the orb from beneath the desk before standing. Though it was no longer emitting the eerie rays of light, it felt oddly warm beneath her palms. Sunlight poured through the glass onto her hands and onto the surface of the desk. Glancing through the half-shuttered window, she saw the sun adamantly hiding behind a wisp of cloud. She looked back at the orb and found that she could no longer see the tarnished golden stand through its glass. It was crowded with people.

Lena placed the ball upon its stand and sunk to the stool, leaning close. Inside were more people than she had ever met, some wandering idly in the afternoon sunlight and others rushing by in a flurry of skirts and coattails.

The view began to move along through the crowd, emerald buildings slinking off the edge of the orb and out of sight. The consistent speed of the movement told her that the view was focused on a particular person in the crowd. After a moment, she found it. A figure swathed in black, sweeping through the streets with the wind.

After a moment of watching the figure dart through the crowds, Lena blinked, pushing the panic from the pit of her stomach. She'd lost them! Searching anxiously, she found that the person had sidestepped into an alley, and the consequent stilling of their cloak had made them hard to distinguish. She caught the sight of a green hand reaching cautiously for a door handle. _Elphaba. I knew it. _

The woman glanced about quickly and up to where Lena sat in the sky before slipping quickly through the door. Lena gasped and moved her face closer to the orb, holding her breath so as not to fog the glass and impair her vision. It hadn't been Elphaba. It was her. _What's going on?_

A sort of dark wind blew through the ball as the door opened and the figure came creeping back out. They stepped into the street and their hood flew back from their face, revealing a woman's sharp profile before the picture faded.

Lena leaned back on the stool, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. _Elphaba?_

_

* * *

_Okay, so I know that I completely left Liir out of this one, but he should have a bit of a play in the next chapter. Also it should be noted that a few lines of dialogue are taken directly from _Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West_ in this chapter. That's all. Review and tell me what you think of this chapter, for some reason it gave me a load of trouble.


	8. Chapter 5

See, it didn't take me two weeks to update this time. Only one. :D Enjoy, and be sure to review for me.

* * *

The steady dripping of murky water. The faint murmurings. The raspy coughs of doomed men, plodding down the hallways. Liir rose and began to pace across the floor, amidst the noise that was the essence of Southstairs. 

"Food."

Liir continued his uneasy pacing without looking up.

The rough voice growled again. "Food."

He looked up from the dirt floor to the uniformed giant of a man blocking the doorway. Quickly, he racked his brain. How long since he had eaten? How long until he would eat again? What day was it? He couldn't remember.

"I'm not hungry," he said.

The man at the doorway smiled a whiskery smile, his eyes coated with malice. "I am."

The man cracked his knuckles and advanced through the doorway as Liir backed away. His back met the wall.

"Come on. Don't you wanna play?" Liir's eyes widened as visions of his first trip to Southstairs flashed before his eyes. Screams from the cells.

"No," he croaked.

"I play fair."

He was upon Liir then, pushing him back into the corner and raising a fist to strike him. Liir pushed off of the wall and flung his foot wildly. He managed to land a hard kick near the guard's groin but missed his mark.

"Why you little…"

Liir was shoved to the ground. He could feel fists and feet, blows against his emaciated body, and bit his lip hard. One, two, three… he lost count. A cry escaped from his lips.

"Don't," the voice was a hoarse snarl, "try something like that again."

Clutching his knees to his chest, Liir raised his head tentatively. The door was closed and the man was gone.

• • • • •

Lena sat back on her heels, playing and replaying the day in her mind, weighing her options. Elphaba was dead, Chistery was more than halfway there himself, and Death seemed to have gained an imposing grip in her own life as well. She had no companions, and no belongings save a flying broom and a mysteriously scented cloak.

All she'd found on her trip to Kiamo Ko was the Grimmerie and the orb. Certainly she couldn't take them with her—they were hardly mobile. She stashed them away in the bucket of a dry well beneath the kitchens before setting off along the road to Red Windmill. Perhaps the soldiers there could lead her to this city of green.

• • • • •

The cell door opened with a bang and he pressed himself further into the wall.

Submission. If he ever wanted to see Lena again. Submission. If there was one thing he learned from the army, it was… Cherrystone. _Trism._ Submission?

He sprang up from the floor suddenly and was greeted with a hard blow to the crown of his head and a loud howl of pain. He took a few steps and turned back, catching sight of the guard, blood spurting from his nose. He slammed the door of the cell closed and hurried away, the guard's voice calling after him.

The halls of Southstairs were fleetingly familiar, like images from a dream long since forgotten. Indeed, he _had _forgotten, all except for the sight of the glorious moon growing as he sailed through the night. He hadn't remembered the cold gusts of air that seemed to originate from deep within the prison, or the stale air smelling of desperation and unwashed linens and cheap cigars.

He turned a corner tentatively, half-expecting to be greeted by Shell striding down the hallway, but found instead an empty corridor. He blinked. The walls were glittering. He blinked again. The length of the aging stone was covered with molding bulletin boards that had long since been out of use. On every one, thousands of staples glittered and shone like tiny shards of broken glass. They winked at him as he passed.

He came to a crossroads and glanced down two hallways, identical to the last torch. Before him hung the last board, words adorning its decaying surface. "The Wicked Witch of the West Lives." Pushing matted hair back from his eyes, he squinted at it. The words weren't written in the same hand that had been haunting his dreams. Nor hadn't been there.

A strong smell washed over him as a gust of shrill air blew in from the right. _Animals. _

He turned down the corridor to his right, vaguely unsure what he was going to do. He came to a flight of stairs that bisected the hallway. To his left, there were steps leading up into the center of Southstairs, where the cavernous roof gave way to small gleaming stars. The broken stones to his right told stories of a past stairway and of recent disuse. He made his way down the stones, leaning heavily on the wall for support.

The corridor before him was narrow and littered with broken rocks, and the ceiling seemed ready to collapse. His footsteps echoed hauntingly off the floor.

The lonely sound of his feet and the cautiousness of his movements brought him wandering back to his days of playtime at Kiamo Ko, and childish games of hide-and-seek. He imagined a giggle up ahead and stiffened. It took him a moment to realize that this was no game with Manek and Nor. Certainly he'd heard the sound. Hadn't he?

He heard it again, this time more like a whimpering sigh than a laugh. "Hello?" he called, running his fingers along the rough stones and advancing into the darkness. He saw the dim outline of a door and felt its moist wood beneath his palms. He pushed into it and it creaked inwards.

"Hooo…" The soft call greeted him.

Immediately his heart sank. No Nor, playfully ducking between moldy folds of a tapestry, no Elphaba, sighing her covert melodies. He sunk to his knees before the small white Bird glistening against the coal gray of the floor. "Hello?"

The Bird raised his head from his chest, where it had been resting as he slept. "Hello!" he called in a mixture of surprise and delight. Liir found him to be a rather puny Pigeon, his feathers coated with a thin layer of dirt. One of his wings was quite obviously broken.

"Erm…" Liir was awkward with introductions. "Are you of the Bird Conference?"

"But of course," the Pigeon sang out. "The very messenger of the lot of them. Flying about and delivering my messages, rain or shine! Dangerous missions, mind you," he added.

"What messages have you to deliver?" Liir was expecting a message for him, a plight of the Conference to remove him from the confines of the prison.

The Pigeon puffed out his chest haughtily. "That," he breathed, "is not a message for the likes of you."

"I'm Liir, the boy broomist!" he sputtered, suddenly aggravated.

"Well, since you put it _that _way," the Bird intoned sarcastically.

"You, Bird, tell me your message," he warned, his fingers twitching menacingly.

The Pigeon flapped a short distance away. "Don't you know?" he asked. "Elphaba lives. Here in Southstairs, as I hear it."

"What?" Liir sprang to his feet, sending the Bird flying backwards a foot or so. "Where? Here?"

The Pigeon seemed to consider his question for a moment before tilting his head to one side. "Yes, where else?"

He was out the door before the words were finished echoing off the walls, heading down the corridor. "Elphaba?" he whispered. He imagined that he saw her lurking in every shadow, poring over the Grimmerie or seething with her characteristic fury. The figure was always gone before he could look again.

"Elphaba," he growled angrily, tripping over a stone. The tunnel had grown dark, past the point of sight. Only the whispering of wind on the back of his neck and the old stench of Animals ahead held his directional sense intact. "Mom?" he tried tentatively. No answer.

"Oh, curse it all!" he cried, sinking to the floor. Elphaba wasn't here. She was gone. It was his fault. His own selfish, delusional desire to bring her back had sent him on a wild goose chase. Here he was in Southstairs, with only the howling wind for company, when he'd had a chance at escape. The crazy old Pigeon could have gotten word out to the Birds. He really _did _screw up at everything.

He opened his eyes slowly, realizing as he did so that he had nodded off against the wall. A chorus of footsteps was drifting down the hall, and a small light was floating his way.

So this is it, he thought. The light at the end of the tunnel. The Unnamed God has finally decided to take away my meager existence.

Oh, snap out of it! his subconscious chided, and he gathered his senses. A torch, held aloft by an unseen form, was drifting down the hallway towards him. He stood as Shell's face came into view.

It took Shell a moment to acknowledge Liir's presence. "Well, well. So you're a filthy Animal lover like my _dear_," he spat, "sister."

Liir clenched his fists at his sides, breaking out into a loud yell. "You will never have _half _the strength Elphaba had, nor the dignity."

"Liir!" The voice pulled him from his thoughts, calmed him somewhat. Shell leaned against the wall, obviously pleased to have regained control, and focus, of the conversation. He pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and lit it before taking a long draw. He let out a puff of smoke. "_As _I was saying. Are you about done with your little escapade, Liir?"

Liir glanced about quickly, searching for a means of escape. "Wait," he said. "What about… a bargain."

Shell seemed amused, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smile around his cigar as he waited patiently for Liir to continue.

"I—I'll tell you what you need to know."

Shell's smile widened as he pulled the cigar from his mouth. He tossed it to the ground where it hissed quietly for a moment before it was extinguished. For good measure, he took extra care to stomp it beneath his heavy-soled boot as he crossed the hallway.

"Will you, now?" His breath reeked of cigars.

Liir searched for any alternate response, but knew his options were limited. "Yes."

"Like what?" Shell was drawing it out, enjoying Liir's torment.

Submission, he reminded himself. He needed to stay calm, for Lena. "I know where the green one is."

"Oh?" Shell's eyebrows were arched in surprise, his tone light and mocking. "I know all about our dear Lena by now, Liir. You never were much of one to take me up on my offer."

Liir tried to keep his face as emotionless as possible, tried to form a dismissive response. Shell snapped his fingers and a broad figure emerged from the shadows.

"Do try and make sure that he stays in his cell this time."

The man had a bandage across his nose.

"Like father like daughter, eh, Liir?" Shell asked mildly as Liir's arms were pulled behind his back. "After all, you always favored those soldiers in Red Windmill too, as I hear it."

Shell smiled sadistically as Liir was hauled out of sight.


	9. Chapter 6

**Notes: **_Please _do not hate me, for it seems that I am introducing yet _another _sub-plot. I'm really not! This is my last chapter devoted to vagueness... (coughcough). Okay, this is the deal. I actually have all of this stuff planned out in my head that works quite well. I promise to stop letting you all feel so confused, and this chapter is supposed to be one of those that begins to clear up a little of the mystery (at least the beginning, and the end too though you don't know it yet). So, bear with me, and be sure to keep all of the wonderful reviews coming (thanks for those reviews, by the way. :D).

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

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The morning was warm and the road rough. Glinda laid her head against the wall of the carriage, clutching an old and fraying hat in her slim fingers. Its lacy fringes tickled the inside of her palm. 

The worn tracks and slanting roof of the 4th Street Central Station came into view around a bend. Glinda looked away. The white roof, with its great flakes of paint stripped away, the weathered stripes in the apple-red wall; it was all imprinted in her memory. That train station haunted her dreams.

Though increasing amounts of time had passed since Glinda's first trip to the Emerald City, she still thought of Elphaba every time she skirted by the old train station north of the city. She had taken to going out of her way to pass south of the city instead, but her attempts failed her. The sight of the train station in the south reminded her with more ferocity that which she was avoiding and which she had lost.

Since her extemporary trip with Elphaba, Glinda had developed an irrational fear of traveling alone. She had been hoping that this trip could be different, but there was no smiling, silver-eyed girl beaming beside her on the worn leather seat, expressing wonder in the world that had long since lost its worth Glinda's eyes. Lena had renewed her joy in the small things. Yet Glinda had lost Lena as well, and she wondered at what she'd done to cause the Unnamed God, or Lurline, or whoever ruled the cruel dealings of her life, to feel the need to punish her so.

Green hills and magnificent meadows of daffodils and lilies rolled by Glinda's window, oblivious to their viewer's lack of appreciation. An oversized marble mailbox cut the rolling skyline, expressing to Glinda its desperate desire to be seen by all that passed. She clenched her fingers at the sight of it, unconsciously wrapping them firmer about the brim of the hat. "It's like public officials these days. Ha! They care more about being seen than getting the job done…" she imagined Elphaba would say. Though, who was to say she knew anymore? Elphie's wise voice was more of a second conscience to her than anything else these days.

As she drew closer to the mailbox, Glinda noticed something that she had failed to notice on her recent trips. In the soft peach marble names were carved, shallow from the weather of the years. She formed a name on her lips. "Frexspar."

A cold chill made her shiver. Perhaps everyone had some innate ability, a natural desire to leave their mark upon the world in which they live. Nessarose, Elphaba, and Frexspar had certainly done so. Even Frex's name upon the mailbox told of words unsaid and tasks left unfinished. Frex had possessed, in his later years, a bit of a strong desire to right that which his youngest daughter had left wrong. Colwen Grounds had been cleaned up and restored, and the natural state of Munchkinland returned to its original government of theological monarchy rather than all-out dictatorship. Somehow, it had seemed to Frex that giving the illusion of choice to the people was the same as providing them with freedom. His reign had gone under-appreciated, yet nevertheless had reinstated a sense of certainty in the land of his people.

Despite his plans, Frex was not long for the world after Lena's birth. He never came to know of his great-granddaughter or grandson. A plague that surpassed any and all semblances of such before it swept the great area of Munchkinland. An angry revenge from the Unnamed God, wreaking havoc upon the people that had dared to defy his Apostle, or so said the great and mighty Shell. The disease left the survivors of Munchkinland disheartened, sallow-skinned and weak from lack of food. The winter was harsh and many munchkins lost those closest to them.

Some turned against the government of the Free State of Munchkinland and fled to the Emerald City and less populated areas to the south of Gillikin. Others sought refuge in the maunteries, which were bursting with the hungry and the lost. Some, like Boq, turned to magic.

Glinda's memories of the four long years that had been stolen from the people by the Unnamed Plague (as the royal officials and devoted munchkins had come to call it) were vague. She had done what she could for Frex and the more downtrodden of the citizens, flitting about from mauntery to mauntery. Boq's house, in particular, was among the worst. Milla had died in the birth of Boq's twelfth child in the first year of the plague. Glinda had done all she could for him, and yet he still was overwhelmed. He lost his two oldest sons, Maverick and another boy whose name escaped her, first, spent due to their extra efforts in the cornfields. The rest of his children, scattered between the ages of eleven and two, were left to fend for themselves as Boq struggled to put food on the table.

The years were tough and by the fourth year of the plague, only one of Boq's children remained. He had gone nameless for fear of being lost, and as a mock sort of tribute to the namelessness of God. The plague eventually dwindled and became less frequent, allowing health to be restored to the citizens. Boq and Glinda's spirits were renewed. The child was finally named in his fifth year, Ean, meaning "God is gracious." Boq took over position of authority in the broken land of the munchkins.

The clattering of the cobblestones beneath the carriage wheels reminded her of the present. She wiped the moisture from her cheeks and cracked her mouth into a small smile, preparing herself to step down from the carriage and face the world.

She took the offered hand of the young boy that flung open her carriage door with a courteous, "How do you do, Miss Glinda?"

"Just fine. I think I'd like to take a solitary stroll in the gardens."

He bowed himself from her presence and flitted off to join the straggle of boys spread across the lawns. She wandered noiselessly into the gardens and found Boq's silhouette against the sinking sun.

"Hey, you."

He turned slowly. "Glinda!" He pulled her into a gentle hug reminiscent of warm fires. "Back so soon. Join me to watch the sunset?"

"Master Boq, I should think that I require a chaperone when with a boy." She smiled at their joke, a joke of the gardens.

"I should think, Miss Galinda, that you would have learned the language of the munchkins by now."

"Ah, it is so. But the question is, have you developed an ear for the language of the girls?"

"I might need a translator yet." He laughed.

She glanced about the gardens as though looking for such a translator. "Where's Ean?"

"Off playing big brother to Molly. They've really become quite the little duo, the two of them."

She smiled and turned her eyes to the setting sun. The hollows in her cheeks were bathed in soft shadow, and the dusting of silver in her fine hair reflected the sinking orange light.

He shook himself from his thoughts as he found himself wishing to reach out a hand to touch her silky hair. "How… how's Lena?"

She creased her eyes as though in thought. This surprised him. It was unlike her normal behavior after a return from the mauntery. Most occasions would find her bursting with stories and laughter, untold moments and future plans.

"Well, I thought to bring her out for a visit…"

"You always say that," he joked. He thought that, perhaps, she was just having a moment, and he seemed to be trying to coax her back into her normal, playful self.

She flashed her eyes at him in a rare display of annoyance, but seemed to recover herself quickly, continuing her story. "You know better than most the lengths to which Shell will go to extend his power. This weekend, I got a visit from Nor—"

"Fiyero's daughter?" His eyes were wide in surprise.

"Boq, if you'd stop interrupting, you'd know that's what I'm trying to tell you," Glinda replied, exasperated. "Nor showed up two days ago. She's been hiding out in the Emerald City, in a resistance against Shell. She wanted me to know that Shell knows about Lena…I was planning on fleeing with Lena, but…Lena left. I…" She appeared suddenly startled and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

The patter of footsteps about the corner preceded a small figure that came skidding out from behind the bushes, her golden hair flying out behind her. "Gramma Glinda!" she cried, toppling into Glinda in a ferocious hug.

A tall boy came rushing out from behind the same bush moments later. "Molly, I said no turtle—Oh! Good evening, Glinda."

He made as if to say more, but the small girl was jumping up and down in front of Glinda already, and had quite obviously succeeded in capturing her attention.

"Today Ean took me to Dove Pond and there was this boat with a _huge_," the small girl stretched her arms out to emphasize her point, her clear blue eyes growing wide, "purple bow! And then we saw Kay! And there were cookies… and…" She trailed off, catching her breath, her round face flushed in excitement.

"That's wonderful, Molly, dear. You look so much bigger today." Boq could hear the slight strain in Glinda's falsely cheery voice.

"I'm _six _now," she announced proudly, puffing out her chest and displaying six small fingers.

"Yes, dear." Glinda sounded distracted.

"And tomorrow's Monday! On Monday there's always lessons! What lessons are tomorrow? Is it Math? Is it Music? I love Music. I—"

"I'm sorry," Ean said. "Would you like me to…" He motioned towards Molly.

"Molly, how about we all head up for dinner?" Boq offered. Molly appeared excited. She grasped Ean's hand in her own and began to pull him towards the house, happily listing off possible foods for dinner as she skipped along.

Glinda smiled subconsciously at the pair of them wandering a good ten feet ahead. She soon noticed Boq's eyes on her and turned to face him. "What?"

"Are you going to finish your story?"

She looked at Ean and Molly uncomfortably. She fidgeted. "I did."

"Well, how do you mean, Lena's gone?"

She did not look up at him for several moments. He turned his eyes back to the path, assuming that perhaps she needed some time before she'd want to talk about it again. Her voice was quiet when she responded. "Gone." Even quieter still. "Elphaba gone."

- - - - -

"Merra!" she called over her shoulder above the sound of the kitchen water running. "Merra, get in here!"

A girl came stumbling in from the rain, her dark hair tucked into a bun that seemed to be losing patience with its tie. "What?"

"Merra, what in… Lurline help us all. Please tell me that you weren't out in the courtyard again."

The girl tucked the stray hair back from her eyes and fell, exhausted, into a chair. "Raine, I don't understand what the problem is."

"Do not even start with me, young lady. I have told you more times than I dare to count the consequences of going out there, and now is not the time for me to do so again. Go and gather carrots from the garden, and mind you wash your hands before doing so."

Merra mumbled something under her breath as she pushed the chair back from the table and stood. Raine sighed and filled a pot with water before moving to stroke the fire. Moments later, a small boy, caked in dirt, came wandering in through the door and slammed it shut behind him. Raine turned to look at him before retrieving the pot from the counter and settling it upon the fire.

"Nor's coming," the boy stated as Merra entered the room, clutching a small heap of carrots in the fold of her apron.

"What?" Raine and Merra cried, the former dumping a large amount of water into the fire and the latter sending carrots flying across the kitchen table.

"She'll be here by dinnertime," he stated, smoothing his dirty blond hair out on his head.

"Oh, sweet Oz!" Raine called, throwing her hands up in exasperation as the fire hissed out. "Could we not have been given more warning than this?"

Merra was gathering the carrots from the table and tossing them fervently into the sink. "Kass does what she can."

Raine shot Merra a look. "Merra! I thought you'd only been out in the courtyard! If Nor were not coming tonight, you would certainly be receiving a due punishment." Merra smiled at the carrots in her hands. "But you are _not_ getting out of punishment. Binh, run along and tell the others."

The little boy rushed off out of sight, his feet clunking loudly on the wooden stairs. Raine returned to her fire and set about lighting it with renewed vigor.


	10. Chapter 7

**A/N**: Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry that it's taken me so long to update. Life's caught up with me. I promise it won't take so long next time. Thanks goes to Veronika Green, who I forgot to thank last chapter due to my sidetrackedness, for her help on dialogue in the last chapter. Thanks also goes to Kennedy Leigh Morgan, as always, for being awesome and putting up with me. ;) Also to elphabathedelirious(somethingsomethingnumbers) for being awesome and also for threatening me with a wicker chair. Also, the title of this story is subject to change by the next chapter, so don't be surprised, and be sure to put it on alert or something if it matters to you that it's lost into oblivion. ;)

**Summary**: Sometimes if it's been a while, I find that I've forgotten the previous parts of a story. So I'll summarize. Chapter 5 was Lirr's little adventure in Southstairs and his meeting with Shell, which just got him thrown back into his cell anyway. The last chapter was Glinda reuiniting with Boq, Molly, and Ean, and also had the introduction of a few characters near the end. (Raine, Merra, Binh.)

**Diclaimer**: It's not mine.

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She tilted her head this way and that, assessing the sky. Behind her, dark clouds were gathering in a huge gray mass, and the wind was sending her hair out around her. She shook it from her eyes, pulled it back and tied it into place with a leather thong. She took a deep breath and hitched the cloak from her shoulders and slung it over her arm. 

She'd had her doubts about leaving the mauntery and about leaving Kiamo Ko. Who did she think she was? What kind of decision did she think she was making? After all, she was only fourteen. She knew novices older than she that she was certain would forget to eat and pray and sleep if not instructed to do so.

But in this moment, with the sun shining meekly through the gray and white clouds tossed in among the happy blue and yellow sky beneath, she lost her worries. She felt a small drop of water on her face and her smile widened.

She loved the mauntery—it was her home. She loved Glinda, and Sister Apothecaire, and the others. But she'd been too still for too long, too coddled and too restricted. How she'd longed to be able to roam, to take a walk. To sit in the rain without the quick glances and the gentle voices that told her to get inside, accompanied by prodding hands.

The dark clouds came over her and pelted her with the occasional large drop. The coolness of the water felt good upon her cheeks, more pure than well water, more forgiving than tears.

The sky let loose and it began to pour. She ran, stumbled along the red dirt path that caked her black leather shoes and slopped at her ankles. She passed little cottages emitting the feeblest trails of smoke from chimneys on sinking rooftops, little lawns with upended tables and rusted red tricycles. The little cottages gave way to tinkling little shops and dirty motels and untended cafés.

Why, the buildings weren't green at all! Rather, they were gray and drab and blended in with the hopeless sky. An occasional person slinked by on the street ahead but none approached her.

She slid the cloak back on reluctantly and hid beneath its warm folds. A flash of lightning lit the sky as a squat little woman hidden behind a mass of crimson curls came waddling out of a little shop ahead. She passed by Lena without so much as a glance.

Lena needed to find a place to stay to get out of the storm, which was becoming progressively worse. Streaks of lightning were flashing through the city, illuminating the cold steel of the desolate warehouses around her. She stumbled into an overhang and pressed her face against the clouded glass. Inside she could see a set of stairs that turned and led out of sight along barren walls. She pulled open the heavy door and slid inside, pulling the cloak from her face. The room smelled faintly of bread and fires.

"Hello?" she called. The howling wind could be heard through the cracked windowpane. She approached the stairs and cautiously placed her foot upon the first step. It emitted a small cloud of a dust and a squeak of protest but was sturdy beneath her. She made her way up the stairs deliberately and slowly, using the wall for support should a stair decide to give. Though she doubted how much good the wall would do her if that did happen.

She came to a bend in the stairs and could have sworn that she saw a white cat on the step. She jumped. She'd only ever heard of cats in long-ago bedtime stories, or books of far-away fantasylands. Yet when she looked closer, there was no cat. She shook her head and reasoned that it had streaked away up the stairs.

She pushed open a door to find a fairly large room. Immediately to her right was a small, aluminum-framed bed, slid crookedly against the wall. Crates were littered about the floor with no particular regard to design or convenience, each one sporting a book or tin cup or stack of yellowed paper. The room was dim, lit only by the small amounts of light that managed to make it through the raging storms and into the skylights lining the slanted roof.

Too timid to explore the rest of the room with the thundering roar of the storm outside, she pulled herself onto the bed and collapsed onto its musty sheets, pulling the cloak up over her head.

• • • • •

Nor pushed a few dark strands of hair back from her eyes and looked up at the sky. The straggles of gray clouds that had been threatening rain all morning were now massing together in a promising way. Laela nudged Nor's hand and tugged at her reigns, protesting the storm.

"Shh, it's alright," Nor murmured. She kicked softly at the red earth of the path and muttered something to herself that sounded curiously like "Munchkins."

Laela tugged harder at her reigns when Nor made no attempt to move.

"Oh, all right!" Nor said. "I'm just having trouble… remembering…" She relented and allowed the mare to pull her along the path. After a few minutes it began to sprinkle.

A little cottage with sad-looking windows and a few missing shingles was nestled a little ways off the path. Nor stepped over the low stone wall and made her way across the lawn, sidestepping a pile of sticks, a sodden rag doll, a pitiful little tricycle.

She led Laela around the house to a mid-sized barn behind it, gleaming with new paint, a bright white against the overcast sky. "Hello?" she called. There was no answer. She slid open the door of the barn with little difficulty. "Hello?" she called into the musty darkness. Laela let out a sound somewhat like a huff.

Nor turned to her. "Laela, dear, I need you to stay here. I'm certain Binh will be back soon enough."

The horse nuzzled its neck against Nor's hand and then trotted off to a removed corner of the barn. Nor left and made her way back along the edge of the house. Coming around to the front, she paused. There was a small figure hurrying along the path, skipping through the rain. Nor felt herself go faint and leaned heavily against the wall for a moment. She'd nearly thought that the figure was Elphaba. Nearly.

She waited for the figure to pass and then followed along behind it. She could see Lena as the Emerald City came up around them, pausing to gaze at a shop, jumping at loud noises. Lena disappeared behind her hood and nearly fell into something or another along the roadside when a rather stocky, suspicious-looking woman came bustling by. Nor smiled to herself and turned along St. Pertha's Avenue. The palace loomed ahead like a giant on its haunches. She lowered her eyes from the great obnoxious thing.

Making her way along a side alley, she came to a small, walled courtyard of soft stone and concrete. The rain was gathering in a pool along one side. All three doors leading from the courtyard were propped open despite the rain.

"I'm home!" she called.

She was nearly toppled off her feet when a small boy flung himself through a door and about her waist with a squeal.

She swooped the boy up into her arms and spun him around. "Binh, my love, how are you?"

"I missed you!" he said as a slender girl came bobbing through a doorway with a handful of some green vegetable.

Nor released Binh and pulled the girl into a small hug, despite the broccoli poking uncomfortably at her navel. "Hey, my little rebel, how've you been?"

"About as well as one _can _be doing under these corrupted powers," she replied, jerking her head at the house. "I mean, really, equal rights are slim to none…"

"Merra!" the boy said.

"I'm not joking!" she replied. "Reema, really, if you knew—"

"Hush, Merra." Nor looked serious. "What have I told you about that?"

"I'm sorry, I mean, Nor, I…"

"Why are we all standing out in the rain?" Raine was standing in the doorway, drying her hands on her frayed blue apron. "Get inside, dinner's ready."

Nor pulled Merra and Binh with her through the doorway.

"What a feast!" Nor exclaimed. "If I didn't know better I'd say I was expected."

Merra quickly busied herself with her napkin as Binh sat quietly across from her.

"Yes, well, these little ones spoke to Kass, apparently."

"The sly little devil!"

"The kids or Kass?"

"I meant Kass, but I've always known about the kids…"

"Hey!" Merra interjected. She paused as though searching for a suitable retort and settled on saying, "We got dinner for you," and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Pass the broccoli."

Nor shot Merra a playful smile and passed the broccoli down the table. "Binh, how likely is it that we'll be hearing from Kass tonight?"

He picked at the food on his plate carefully. "We won't. She's flown to Munchkinland."

Merra, who was apparently making a show at the other end of the table of disapproving of the bread, huffed. Raine was using exaggerated hand movements that were vaguely distracting to Nor from the corner of her eye.

"Can you, erm…" She trailed off, trying to catch the last bit of what Raine was mouthing to Merra, which resembled something like "angry goat." Nor burst out laughing.

Merra, who had been defiantly staring at her glass of milk, cracked a grin. Raine threw up her hands and said, "Sometimes I wonder why it is that I have kids."

"You love us." Merra smiled.

"Some days more than others."

"Where is everyone?" Nor jerked her head towards the door.

"Business," Raine said.

"I completely forgot. That's why I came. I mean," she added hastily at Raine's and Merra's indignant faces, "I missed you guys too. Binh, how about Kass? Can you send her to me over the next few days?"

Binh looked hurt. "Aren't you staying?"

"Afraid not, little one. I've got to be going soon."

He pushed his noodles about his plate. "Yeah, I can send her. Where to?"

Nor paused for a moment. "…Southstairs."

Raine shot her a look. "_What?_"

"Not to stay!" Nor protested.

"Not that you have a choice," Merra muttered.

Nor stood. "Has no one heard of the term 'rescue mission'?"

"Have you heard of the term 'suicide'?" Raine asked, now on her feet as well.

"I'm not going to get myself killed," Nor said.

"What if you do?" Binh asked quietly.

"Binh, hon, I won't. I'll come back. You're like my little brother. You know that."

"Then why would you go?" Merra asked. "What's so important?"

"Merra, I have got a brother. And he needs my help."

• • • • •

She was lying on the floor, covered by an abundance of scarves. She sat up and pulled one off her head. It was yellow, with tiny green petals and green trim. She flung it across the room and it fluttered slowly to the floor.

Suddenly the room was full of flickering shadows. They closed in on her. She hid beneath the scarves and bit her tongue and clenched her fists.

She waited, holding her breath. Five seconds passed, ten, twenty. Unable to wait any longer, she opened her eyes, unclenched her fingers, and popped her head up through a lavender scarf. There was a small girl in the corner, crying, covering her pale cheeks with soft little hands.

Lena rose from the pile of scarves to find that they were gone, there she was in the cemetery, and Elphaba was seated on her own headstone, staring blankly at something that Lena could not see.

Lena opened her mouth to speak when a rumble of thunder brought her back to the damp coolness of the rickety little room.

The walls were lit by a flash of lightning and she burrowed into the bed, hiding from the storm and the dream and the memories.


	11. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hi! Sorry that it's been a little while. My computer had a meltdown and this scene was giving me a bit of problems. The next chapter should be up relatively soon as I know where I'm taking it. Also, to those that normally get reviews from me... as soon as my computer's fixed I'll catch up. Honest. :) Also, as you've probably noticed, I've decided to change the name of this fic. I had trouble naming it the first time.

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"Binh, honey, why are you crying?" Merra squatted down beside him.

The boy attempted to wipe the tears from his face and slanted his head sideways to look up at her. "I'm… not."

Merra sat down beside him and placed a hand on his back. "What's wrong?"

"I just was thinking about Kass and how she's coming back tomorrow. And I don't want to send her… there." He paused. "What if they don't come back?"

"Nor and Kass?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Nor's coming back. She did it once and she can do it again. Plus," she said, nudging him, "now she's got you 'n Kass too."

He smiled weakly. "Tell me the story."

Merra settled back against the wall and pulled Binh into her lap. "See, when Nor was little—"

"Like me?" he asked.

"Yes, like you," she said. He smiled. "When Nor was little, she lived in a big castle. So big, you coulda put the whole palace inside. But one day a wicked old Witch came, and weird things started to happen." Merra paused just long enough for her words to take effect. "So they all were sent away. Nor and the princes and the king. But the weird things didn't stop. Nor got put in prison. And there was a big, mean tiger." Binh gasped as though such an event were surprising to him.

"But Nor knew what to do," she consoled him. "She sang a lullaby and the tiger fell right to sleep. Like a little baby. She escaped, and came to stay with us until the Troupe would stop looking for her."

"How come she never talks about it?" he asked.

"Because it's top secret, you goose! She can't just go telling everyone about all of her secret adventures."

Binh smiled wide, momentarily pleased with the story that he'd never really believed. "Thanks Merra."

She hugged him. "Anytime."

Raine closed the slit in the blinds and made her way to the table. She placed her head wearily in her hands.

• • • • •

She sat up in bed, suddenly, turning her head all around. Every morning scared her. It was as though, overnight, she'd returned to the mauntery in spirit and hadn't expected to wake up anywhere other than her old bedroom with the familiar stone walls and stark white sheets.

Weak sunlight trickled in through tht skylight like the uncertain beams of a candle in the dark. Lena sat up in the mildewed bed and pulled the cloak on over her head. The room was quite damp, as though the rough wooden walls weren't much of a match for the storm.

She rose and crossed to the small wood-burning stove along the opposite wall. Pulling the sleeve of the cloak over her hand, she gently tugged the door open. She hadn't really expected there to be any wood inside, but the charred black ashes disappointed her.

A stretch of golden light fell onto the soot-covered planks along the wall behind the stove. Lena glanced up at the skylight once more. The sun seemed to have returned from hiding.

"May as well get out and look around," she said, for no other reason than to hear herself speak.

She removed the lids from a couple crates, both of which were packed with wood shavings. By the third crate, she was both curious and annoyed enough to plunge her hand into the shavings to find what was inside. Her fingers met cold steel, and she pulled out a large metal drum that reflected the sun in thick lines along the wall. The letters embossed on its shiny surface suggested printing, but there was no ink.

The fourth box held stacks of yellowed paper up to her knees. The fifth surprised her.

Scarves. Nine of eleven of them, flowing translucent silk in greens and magentas and blacks with roses and swirls. She stumbled away from the crate.

"Fae… Elphaba." (This shouldn't be underlined... I don't know why it is)

Lena covered her ears and stumbled out the door.

She collapsed on the stairs, crying. No scarves, no Elphaba, no Fiyero, no cat, she thought. "Why is this happening?"

"I love you."

"So that's that then, and that's it."

Lena tripped down the stairs and out the door. She ducked beneath shadows and between figures, hiding beneath her hood. She wanted nothing more than to get away from the people, the voices, the noise.

She slid into an alleyway to escape the roar of the wind. Had Liir heard, too, the mother and father that had been cruelly ripped from him? Is that why he'd left the press? He never had told her, or anyone, about the city.

She blinked the tears back from her eyes, tried to talk some sense into herself. She was before a metal door covered in graffiti. She swallowed.

So it had been her, rushing through the crowds, oblivious to any watchers in the sky. Lena reached for the door handle and glanced around. Right before she slid through into the darkness, she looked up at the sky. Certain that she'd see something, anything, she could almost swear that she'd made out a face in the clouds.

"Name," a voice called from the shadows.

"Fae," she offered, her voice sounding much more sure than she felt.

Half a dozen hands gripped her tight. An anxious voice tickled the inside of her ear. "Don't speak. Come with me."


	12. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Okay guys, I'm updating, AND I have my computer back. Also, I should probably point out that the "It was raining." dealio is a spinoff of the "It's Raining." in _My Sister's Keeper._

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

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It was raining. Raining in the drizzly, pattery sort of way that renders you useless, persuades you to curl up with a book and pretend like all problems disappear with the rain. Today, the clouds were too gray for even to most fun-loving of children to come out and play. 

Nor loved everything about days like this one. The woody scent of the air, so different from the normal smells of the city, brought back her days at Kiamo Ko, when she would skip joyously through the puddle that gathered in the uneven cobblestones of the courtyard at home, like a present just for her, a bow of rainbowed light. The rain was her excuse to remember days when life was fair and her biggest worry was whether or not she'd get to sit next to daddy at dinner that night.

'Just wait 'till the rain lets up,' Binh had pleaded with her. But she'd known more than ever that now was the time to go. As she reached the end of the alleyway, certain that, by now, Raine and the others would be gone, she looked over her shoulder. Framed in the doorway, framed by the morning mist, were Raine, Merra, and Binh. An unfairly beautiful portrait of a family, one member short.

She turned away and rounded the corner, trying to pretend that she hadn't noticed, even from a distance, how tired Raine looked, how tall Merra was next to her mother, or the fresh certainty lacing Binh's features. She tried to pretend she didn't realize that, even though her loved ones remained the same in her mind, at home they were growing up without her.

The weather of the morning reminded her of her first conscious trip down this alleyway, her first renewed attempt at life.

_Having become fully accustomed to waking up in odd positions and places, the first thing she noticed was the warmth of the bed. In the last blissful moments that are the companion to sleep, the moments right before the present comes tumbling down on you like an icy waterfall, she told herself it was a dream. A nightmare._

_Disappointment washed over her as she opened her eyes. She could see a little thatch roof over her head and pliable bamboo poles from which hung an assortment of dangly little herbs and drying towels. Slowly, she turned her face to gather her surroundings. As if on cue, she spurted blood all over the floor, on the side of the bed, felt warm chills spread to her fingers and toes._

"_Oh, dear, dear." And she'd seen Raine for the first time, short and dark with dark eyes that sort of creased at the edges, as though she never stopped laughing._

_In the beginning Raine had taken care of Nor, though she was burdened with the weight of an unborn child. Nor recalled lots of sleeping, and blood, and smelly, steamy tea that burned uncomfortably on the way down, but even more so on the way up. _Plague, _she'd been told._

Nor shivered at the recollection and paused beneath an underhang on the pretense of gazing at some horribly gaudy red-and-gold thing in the shop window, though she'd never look the part to buy it. After wiping the rainwater from her cheeks, she glanced about.

How to get my way into Southstairs, she thought, inexplicably amused. Hm, well, that's easy. Paint myself green and parade around town.

Hell, she thought. I could probably _say _that I'm green within a hundred yards of Shell's precious palace and get chucked back into that place.

She remembered, then, how Liir had gotten in. Glinda could be her saving grace. She had started on her way already to the estate of the late Sir Chuffrey, along the canal, before she realized that Glinda was gone. She'd be in Munchkinland.

Maybe I can send word, she thought desperately, knowing that such a thing would take entirely too long.

This gave her an idea, and she continued on with renewed vigor, smirking in a disconcerting way. After all, she hadn't anything to lose save her freedom. Which is exactly what she wanted.

• • • • •

It was raining. Liir hated everything about days like this. Outside of the walls of Southstairs, he'd never felt any particular way about the rain. It was just weather.

In the prison, in his damp hole in the earth, he could feel the thick, wet air, hanging up near the corners of his cell like cobwebs of water spun into silk. He could smell it in the air, in the rough dirt of the floor. He despised the way it made him long to venture outside.

The soft tapping at the door caused him to jump slightly against the gravelly stone wall. He quickly raked his eyes across the cell for some means of hiding. A small, three-legged stool, a pile of his own waste. Nothing. Many visits started this way, with Liir closing his eyes and collapsing against the wall, hoping that, perhaps this time, he'd sink through.

Another soft tap. "Liir?"

In his time at Southstairs, he was referred to as Liir only by Shell. The others, the guards, the jeering prisoners along the halls, settled on "Ghost." Lately, he'd felt so invisible, merely a shadow of a person, that it was difficult to tell where Liir ended and Ghost began.

The soft sound of keys, like dull clinks of glass, sounded from the door. The light in the hallway was dim, but showed Liir the velvet, scarlet back of a man as he pulled the door closed behind him with a soft thud.

"Liir?" the man said, turning to face him.

Liir nearly shouted, his mouth falling open in shock and surprise. He attempted to speak, but could only stare at the hard line of Trism's chin, the unruly brown hair collapsing around his shoulders.

"Oh, sweet Lurline," Trism said as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He was on his knees beside Liir, brushing back matted blond locks and wiping away grime. "What the hell did they do to you?" he snarled.

Liir was caught up in the warmth of the fingers brushing across his cheek, the overwhelming scent of wood and drink and man. "I… they…"

"Shh, come on. Let's get you up." And Trism hoisted Liir's limp body from the floor and wrapped a solid arm around his back, holding him steady.

"Are we… going?" Liir asked, gripping at his ribs.

"I'm getting you out of here."

Liir felt grateful—hopeful, even—for the first time since he'd managed to get into the prison. He glanced over his shoulder for what he hoped to be one last look. There, on the floor, was the little drawing of Lena. For a fleeting moment, he debated retrieving it. Exhaustion won out and he turned away.

• • • • •

"I'd _like _to meet with Lady Chuffery," she announced for the twelfth time to the closed shutters.

"Have you an appointment?" The voice was so infuriatingly high and coquettish it gave Nor a strong urge to chuck something against the window.

"No! I have _not_ got an appointment. I want in, now, and I don't care what it takes."

The shrill voice continued on, unperturbed. "Miss, that's all well and good," she laughed as though such a thing really was quite well and quite good, "but you're going to have to leave or else you'll be removed from the estate. I'm certain you've got no appointment."

Nor kicked the sole of her foot against the door, attempting to make a commotion without causing too much harm to her toes. The woman squealed. "Don't do that! Do you under_stand _what you're kicking? That's genuine—"

Nor turned away from the door to see the blue and silver mass of the Troupe as they came about the corner, creating a big to-do and flashing their silver bayonets. She plastered a grimace on her face, screaming about the audacity of the system.

They fell into formation before the gates. _Twelve _men? It took an entire troop—she laughed, a troop of the Troupe—to bring in one pesky girl?

She glanced about and noticed the white strips at the dark shutters around the courtyard that were the neighbors' faces. Ever the Peacekeeper, Shell was making a scene of keeping the streets of his city safe.

May as well give them a show while I'm at it, Nor thought, screaming loudly that without citizen access to public officials, Clause Twelve of the Dewizardization Act was being blatantly disregarded.

"Child, keep your mouth closed." The head of the group, a man with cropped blond hair and clear, icy blue eyes, clasped his hand over her mouth. He could hardly have been four years older than she.

She bit his finger and snarled. "_Don't _touch me."

He dropped his hand from her mouth but kept her arms pinned tightly behind her back. The group of soldiers gathered around her and marched her down the street, some warped version of the Praetorian Guard.

As the palace rose before them, Nor began thinking quickly. She'd gotten the Troupe to take hold of her—that much had succeeded. But you didn't get thrown into Southstairs for holding a couple of screaming matches with the shutters of the wealthy.

The idea shaping itself in her mind was utterly ridiculous. The steps to the palace came into view around a corner. It would get her killed. She could see the emeralds inlaid in the palace doors. She had no choice.

She muttered furiously under her breath, screwing her eyes up in concentration. Her arms felt warm, hot, as if her body had taken suddenly to fever.

The group made its way into the dimly lit entrance hall of the palace as yellow beams of light erupted from the ends of Nor's fingers.

The two guards grasping Nor by each arm released her and jumped back as though burned. Indeed, they probably had been.

"Sir!" one of the guards cried desperately. The head turned to find that his men had stopped some ten feet behind him. Nor could see the yellow beams of light reflected in his widened blue eyes.

She felt as though liquid fire were coursing through her veins, as though hot coils were pressed against the backs of her eyes. Blackness overcame the pain and she fell to the ground, a limp little heap of gray in the gloom.


	13. Hi!

Hey, guys.

I know that you think that I completely and totally ditched you for all of time.

Sorry about that.

I'm going to completely revamp this story. Well, not completely. The idea will stay the same, and the events probably will, too, but it's going to be rewritten. It has more potential than it's currently living up to.

I suppose the general procedure to follow in a case like this would be to post it again as a second story. It'll have the same name, because I quite like its title as of now, so be looking out for it when it comes up if you still want to read it. A chapter at a time starting in maybe a week or so.

If you've got this on alert, I'll post a little note on this one once the other's been posted for the first time so that you'll know.

That's it.

:D


	14. HEY, YOU

HEY, YOU.

Go look at it: Daughter of a Prince _new-style._

Add "s/3481754/1/" to the end of ff . net.  
Then read it.  
Then leave me comments, yeah?  
So I'll feel incentive to continue, yeah?

:D


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